


A Night In

by what_a_dork_fish



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Nicknames, One Shot, Post-breakup, found family you say?????, solely for the image of Jaskier sitting on Geralt's knee, yeah I call it a breakup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23781334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/what_a_dork_fish/pseuds/what_a_dork_fish
Summary: A visit to a seaside town.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 36
Kudos: 166





	A Night In

**Author's Note:**

> Wanted to write A Very Specific Image
> 
> Also posted on my main tumblr, gods-no-longer-tread-here

Jaskier knew his own limits perfectly well, thank you. He knew the moment his voice began to feather and crack, and he knew when his diaphragm grew too tired for long notes, and he knew when the crowd needed a break. So he bowed with a flourish, and grinned at the cheers of the crowded tavern. He was sweating a little and felt flushed; the fire was higher than was needed when the tavern was this packed, but, well, it was raining out, and most people didn’t really want to face the cold.

He made his way through the tables, replying cheerfully to yelled flirtations, smacking away groping hands, and laughing at crude suggestions. This was a rough town, but he wasn’t frightened at all. These sailors were lustful, but friendly, not desperate or cruel. He was sure—he was pretty sure—he was safe.

And if they weren’t friendly, well… that’s what Geralt was for.

“Scoot,” he told a pretty tavern wench standing in his way, flicking her hair from her face with his fingertips and a grin, “I need to sit for a minute.”

She giggled and ran off to her duties.

Ciri was stifling snorts of laughter with her hands, and Geralt was looking impassive. They’d taken a small table near the back, half-hidden—with seats too small for Jaskier to share with either of them. He sighed dramatically.

“No room for a parched bard?” he bemoaned. “Shall I go and eat my crust woefully beside the fire?”

Geralt scowled and turned just a little on his seat, leaning back slightly. Jaskier beamed and took the opening, plopping down on Geralt’s knee and automatically settling his hand on Geralt’s wrist as the Witcher wrapped his arm comfortably around the bard’s waist. Geralt reached for his tankard, but Jaskier’s hand darted out faster, and he took a long pull, leaning back on Geralt’s shoulder and ignoring his offended grunt. Then Jaskier put the tankard down and asked Ciri cheerfully, “How goes your instruction in the correct way to glare at people for getting too close?”

“I’m getting much better at it,” she replied, trying and failing to keep a straight face. Apparently Jaskier’s antics and Geralt’s responses were funnier tonight than usual. “I don’t think I can growl when people grope you, though.”

Jaskier laughed, as Geralt’s arm tightened around his waist and the thigh beneath Jaskier’s bum tensed. “That’s alright, love, you don’t have to. Well, Geralt?” Jaskier leaned back further, careful of his lute on his back, and put his arm around Geralt’s shoulders. “How’s your throat after all the growling?”

“I don’t growl,” Geralt growled, and took a swig of ale.

The pretty girl brought Jaskier a tankard of watered ale, and blushed and giggled when he thanked her warmly, before scampering off to her other duties. Jaskier rubbed his thumb gently against Geralt’s shoulder, and the rumble in the Witcher’s chest eased.

“You do know I don’t mean it with them, right?” Jaskier murmured.

“...Yes,” Geralt muttered, stabbing a chunk of fish with his knife.

Jaskier sighed and turned to Ciri again, smiling impishly as she watched them under her lashes, still trying not to grin around her meal. “Since our wolf here seems disinclined to speak, what do you think of this town, love?”

It had only been a few months since Jaskier had run into them, but he was already in the habit of thinking of Ciri as a little sister, or maybe even a daughter. Certainly Geralt hadn’t confided why he suddenly had a teenage girl at his side. Ciri seemed to like Jaskier, though; she certainly never minded when he insisted on doting on her, and she’d stopped making faces when he called her names.

“It’s nice enough,” she said slowly, wrinkling her brow in thought as she stirred her roasted potatoes. “It’s… lively, and not just here, right now. Before it started raining, there was singing and laughing. Shouting, too, though. And I saw a prostitute. She smiled at Geralt, but he didn’t look at her.”

“Good! I don’t like sharing.” Jaskier raised his hand and smoothed back Geralt’s hair and felt rather smug. “What do you think, love, should we stay a few days?”

“Maybe one or two,” she said, and put on her Pleading face, widening her eyes and pouting ever so slightly. Jaskier fell for it every time. “I really need clean clothes.”

“And clean clothes are a necessity for a good outlook on life,” Jaskier agreed firmly, then looked down at Geralt. “And you, darling?”

“There was a reward posted,” Geralt grumbled. “We can stay a bit.”

Jaskier smiled and drank his ale.

He was called back to the fire to sing some more, and he didn’t mind, but he wrapped up as quickly as possible, replying to a woman’s shouted question of if she could keep him for a night with a loud and merry, “My apologies, O Beauty of the Coast, but I have promised my heart elsewhere, though you make me falter in my commitments!”

That caused even more laughter, even from the woman and the man holding on to her tightly. He couldn’t help it, he had to do a bit of a comedic patter for a few minutes—he’d discovered that he greatly enjoyed making people laugh—then skipped through the drunken guests to meet Geralt and Ciri on the way upstairs. Jaskier blew a kiss to the tavern at large before Geralt grabbed him and yanked him close, making him laugh again.

He was more tired than he thought when they reached their rooms; connecting, with the smaller one for Ciri and the bigger one for Geralt and Jaskier. The nighttime routine was so settled that Jaskier could do it in his sleep; he brushed Ciri’s hair and helped her braid it, they exchanged cheek-kisses, and then when she climbed into bed he blew out all but one candle and went to his and Geralt’s room. Geralt was already out of armor and glowering. So Jaskier undressed, got into bed, and when Geralt tackled him, he laughed softly and gave as good as he got. Usually it was just kissing, just melting into each other’s arms; and oh, Jaskier loved it.

And every night, the same conversation.

“Can I stay this time?”

“Jaskier, I would hunt you down if you left.”

“I love you.”

A happy rumble from Geralt, and then they would both fall silent, tangled up in each other and happy for once.

**Author's Note:**

> *slides comment box towards you across the table like a piece of incriminating evidence in a cop show*


End file.
